ballroom dance class
partner swapping for social exchange
I brought me
As we moved
My face seemed to make her smile, then laugh
He looked past his partner to watch us in the mirror
I danced rhumba with a fiancée
Someone engaged to someone else
Her arms spoke to me of hope:
Her right wrist bore a long scar
The proper way to cut yourself to die, from your palm towards your elbow
The cut looked sealed but red, like an adult decision
On her signifying left finger, a glimmering rock bouquet
Someone else had invested in her future
She was healing, or at least learning to partner dance.
